


True Love: Not Just for Fairytales

by FlitShadowflame



Series: A Cadash Always Gets His Man [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Pet Names, mild gender play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 08:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4130491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlitShadowflame/pseuds/FlitShadowflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this <a href="http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/13275.html?thread=50646491#t50646491">kink meme prompt</a> (truncated for convenience):</p><p>Dorian is in a dangerous situation (nothing sexual, please - I'm thinking more like accidentally letting himself get cornered by melee fighters, etc), and warrior-or-rogue!Inquisitor rushes in yelling "GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WOMAN!" just about embarrassing the pants off of Dorian.</p><p>This is a very light gender play request. I'm not looking for feminization/sissification. The Inquisitor doesn't refer to Dorian's body as being female at all - he just likes playing the "boyfriend" to Dorian's "girlfriend."</p>
            </blockquote>





	True Love: Not Just for Fairytales

Later, Dorian will jokingly say he “over”looked the dwarf rogue, and there will be groaning and complaints about puns, and Bull will laugh until he almost falls over and Cadash will - lovingly, Dorian is sure - thump Dorian on the arm.

In the moment, however, Dorian is caught completely off guard when the Carta assassin knifes him from behind. He lets out a pained gasp but hasn’t got the breath to scream, much less cast.

A bloodcurdling yell from further afield is followed up with the loud demand, “Get your filthy hands off my _woman!_ ” And then Cadash slams into the assassin, shoving him off Dorian and separating from his opponent just long enough to crush the rogue’s skull with his warhammer.

There’s a lot of fuss over Dorian’s wounds, but the daggers were clean and sharp, so a poultice takes care of things soon enough. No one mentions Cadash’s slip of the tongue when they recount the battle later, possibly because of the way the dwarf glares and fondles his hammer. Dorian would almost think he imagined it, except for the sheepish looks he receives from his lover.

Much, much later, safely ensconced in their bed in Skyhold, Dorian awkwardly brings it up just as Cadash reaches for his hip.

“Just because the Bull calls robes dresses doesn’t make it true, you know,” he mumbles. “And I don’t even wear those hideous gowns Southern mages have been using for the past four Ages.”

“I know, Dorian,” Cadash snorts.

“And facepaint is quite unisex in Tevinter, particularly kohl.”

“I’ll...take your word on that one,” the Inquisitor says dubiously.

“So why exactly did you call me...that?”

“It’s not - obviously you’re not a woman, and I much prefer you that way,” Cadash says, placating rather than protesting. “But - you know that story, Ashenputtel?”

Dorian blinks at him. “Ashy-what?”

“Girl from a cruel family, forced into servitude, but she attends a masquerade and the prince falls in love and tracks her down to marry her, happily ever after, etc.?”

“That...sounds somewhat like a folk tale I’ve heard in Tevinter...a Laetan mage gets apprenticed to a magister who treats her poorly, but with his connections she meets and befriends a powerful Altus and they assassinate her master...then she suborns his seat by marrying his orphaned young son, or executed for murder and the ALtus buys the seat instead, selling the orphan into slavery. Sometimes she marries the Altus, I suppose. It depends on who’s telling the story.”

Cadash makes a face. “No offense to you, Dorian, but ‘Vints are _terrible_.”

“It’s difficult to disagree with you when I’ve said as much in the past,” Dorian shrugs. “Continue, however.”

“My mother used to tell me that story when I was younger, and - well, you’re the first man I’ve ever met who made me feel...like my life is poorer without you in it. It’s how I’ve always thought love _was_ , in old stories like that. Not necessarily love at first sight, but a need for the other person’s company that goes beyond desire. Like you’re a piece of me I never knew I lacked.”

“Terribly sweet, Amatus, but I’m not sure how that makes me a woman.”

“Right. I don’t know if I can explain that. You’re just...so damn gorgeous, and everything that I’ve ever been told the ideal woman is, as a bride for a noble at least. Shit. I’m just tunneling to darkspawn, aren’t I? I know you’re a man. But I like the idea of you being my girl.”

“What exactly is an ideal wife for a dwarf?” Dorian asks curiously.

“Clever, sexy, powerful, erudite, an appreciation and/or talent for music and art, politically savvy, brings unique skills to the household...ideally childbearing factors, but I can’t stand kids so it’s just as well,” Cadash grins. “I told you, you’re perfect. And you have the cutest little mustache.”

Dorian flushes with color. “It - it is not _cute_ like some...helpless fluffy animal. It’s - manly!”

Cadash strokes his own facial hair: a full, thick blond beard. “Yes, sweetling. Terribly manly, how you wax and shape it every morning and fluff it up twice a day or whenever it starts to droop.”

“A desire to present a neat appearance is not uniquely feminine,” Dorian sniffs. He realizes he’s smoothing his mustache as he says it, and freezes, dropping his hand quickly.

“You _preen_ , baby, and I love it. My fancy peacock.” He pulls Dorian up to his chest, combing Dorian’s hair out with blunt, calloused fingers. “I don’t want to change anything about you. I just like calling you my woman, or maybe other girly pet names. Think you can handle that, gorgeous?”

“If you must, I suppose,” Dorian sighs. “But not in public. Ever.”

“Whatever you want, baby girl. Now, what do I have to do to get a pretty girl like you riding my cock, hmm?”

“Stay still long enough and you’ve made a good start,” Dorian teases. He doesn’t mind the names nearly so much, not when Cadash has been so complimentary and earnestly sweet.

A palmful of oil has them both ready soon enough, Cadash fumbling in his eagerness to open Dorian up. Dorian keeps his hand slow and gentle on the Herald’s cock, because anything else might ruin his plans.

Cadash watches, breathless, as Dorian straddles his hips and mounts him with a long groan of pleasure.

“My beautiful, beautiful girl,” Cadash sighs. “All lithe and flexible and so blighted _pretty_. Come on, baby girl, show me what you can do.”

Dorian arches up and starts working his legs in earnest, riding Cadash more sensually than he’s ever tried before.

“Ancestors, yes, just like that. Such a good girl, my sweet baby. Open your mouth, princess,” he says, pressing two fingers past Dorian’s lips. The mage sucks enthusiastically, leaning forward and resting his hands on Cadash’s broad, warm chest, stroking the pelt of gold-bronze hair.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect. Such a gorgeous mouth, so good at sucking cock. My perfect little lady, dancing in my lap like you’re getting paid for it.” His hips begin rocking up, and Dorian hangs on rather than attempt anything fancy, lest he get bucked off.

“That looks so fucking sexy too, shit, Dorian, how did you get so perfect? You - oh, fuck - baby girl, I want you to touch yourself, you gotta come soon or I won’t be any use for it.”

Dorian clutches a handful of Cadash’s chest hair to reassure himself of his balance.

Cadash releases Dorian’s mouth to grab his hips forcefully and start pounding him with short, sharp thrusts aimed directly for Dorian’s prostate.

Dorian finishes first, but only barely. Cadash shuts his eyes when he comes, as if to preserve the image of Dorian in the throes of orgasm (as if he hasn’t seen it a hundred times already).

“You are absolutely perfect,” Cadash smiles, stroking Dorian’s thigh. “Perfect, beautiful _princess_. I could worship you for a lifetime and it won’t be enough.”

He knows he’s blushing, but he doesn’t care for once. He bends down to give Cadash another lingering kiss. “I...could be persuaded,” he says with false nonchalance. “Certainly the idea has some appeal.”

For the most part, Cadash honors his promise to keep the girly nicknames private. He uses “baby,” but Dorian tolerates this without complaint. Every now and then, however, “princess” slips out, and Dorian will actually set Bull on fire if he laughs about it one more time.

He _does_ set Bull on fire when the Qunari tries to call him that.


End file.
